The Harrison Chapters

Chapter Two

Jim Vassilakos

Copyright (c)1990

Faint moonbeams caressed the dark ocean swells as they washed the damp beach with the gloomy remnants of memories past. Mike laid still along the water's edge, his bare feet slowly dipping in and out of the quiet tide. An empty flask rested at arm's length from his tired body as he dreamt about years past and worlds far across the vast sea of space.

He remembered a gentle Sirian voice warning him of his own impending assassination just hours before her execution and recalled the words of a wealthy industrialist, ``People are profits; individuals: losses.'' He dug out of the past a friend who committed suicide after having found freedom from an Imperial correctional institute and thought on the immoral techniques once practiced by a medical research lab on all assortments of non-volunteers. He remembered a gang of youths beating a elderly man to death because he was an off-worlder and fought back the recollection of twisted arms and limbs as all the remains of a Tizarian Foreign Embassy staff after a terrorist bombing.

Suddenly, he woke. The familiar sickness was there, but the feeling of being forcibly thrust out of the warmth and safety of Sleep's benign womb was lost to an insidious fear, as if he had barely escaped from the black pit of an ancient nightmare.

``You okay?''

Mike jumped, his nerves swinging his head around nearly to the point of whiplash. It was only Niki, and she promptly began her little giggle at Mike's initial surprise.

He looked over his research assistant with considerable distaste, ``What're ya doin' here?''

She drew her hands to her mouth trying to control the spasms of hysteria which only succeeded in making matters worse.

Mike regarded her with a grin, ``Fine.''

He groggily got to his feet as she rolled on the cold sands clenching her ribs in a coughing fit of laughter.

``C'mon, it wasn't that funny.''

Out of breath, she began slowing down. Mike reached for under her shoulders and lifted her small frame off the ground. She put up a mock struggle, laughing all the while.

``Michael... No! Put me down!'' He carried her over his shoulder towards the house as she whined, squealed, and laughed.

The house was dark and lonely when they finally arrived. Mike walked in and tumbled Niki on the couch. She rolled herself up around a large pillow and beamed up at him with a smile. He shook his head in disbelief and grinned.

``Aren't ya' gonna say hi?'' She was in a playful mood.

``Hi.''

They looked at each other for a moment before he continued.

``So, how's my psyche doin'?''

``Just fine... Boss.''

``Don't call me that.''

She laughed, ``Why not? Is it a dirty word?''

He nodded, ``Yes. And how's Mr. Fork doin'?''

``Okay-fine.''

``Still locked up?''

``Yep, but he's gettin' better.''

Mike laughed, ``That's sayin' nothin'.''

``No, Really. He's a lot better than he was. He's even beginning to talk now.''

``What have you gotten out of him?''

``Nothin' much so far. It's still too scrambled to tell what he's thinkin'.''

``Bet that makes for some interesting reading though. Look, I'm gonna get a beer, ya want one?''

Her smile faded. ``Naw, ya' don't want beer.''

``Yes I do,'' he headed for the kitchen.

``Drink some zardocha instead.'' She sounded hopeful.

Mike thought about it for half a moment, ``Yuchi-foo.''

``How 'bout milk?''

He mimicked, ``How 'bout beer?''

``You'll get drunk.''

He tapped the nozel release, and twisted the setting nob down to Niki's favorite.

She smiled, ``You're not gonna get drunk.''

He looked at her, mock-seriousness molding his features into a neutral expression. ``Do I ever?''

She started giggling, ``Tee hee hee... you were so surprised.'' ``Was not.''

``Hee hee... was too.''

``Was not you little sneak. Besides, you never told me why you were there.''

She stopped laughing, ``Just came by to see how you were.''

Mike glanced at the clock, ``At ten after midnight? How'd you know where I was.''

``And I thought ya' had intelligence. Where are ya' always when its dark outside and you're too lazy to answer the door?''

He gulped down half the glass, ``Excuse the stupid question. I'm a little buzzed right now.''

``Why do ya' sleep out there?''

Mike wondered whether she was requesting information or making small talk. ``You've asked me that before.''

``Ya' never answered me.''

Mike paused. ``To sleep... perchance to dream.''

``Did ya dream?''

He thought a moment. ``Yeah.''

``What about?''

``I dunno.''

She laughed, ``Liar.''

He sipped his milk. It was as cold as ice but felt strangely good going down.

``Well?''

``You didn't read me while I was out?''

``Nah. I saw your eyes goin' though. But I still 'member when you said not to read you.''

``I wonder why...''

``Aw c'mon. Y'know you can tell me.''

He replied laughing, ``I do?''

``Yes.'' For once, her tone was convincing.

He paused, ``Okay. You remember hearing about the Tizarian embassy on Calanna?''

``Yeah, I heard got blown up. Hey, that wasn't when you were a correspondent down there, was it?''

Mike nodded, ``I was pulled shortly before that, but I was still... sightseeing.''

``Of course,'' she was smiling.

``Now... I had nothing to do with...''

``Don't even try lying, Michael.''

``Okay... well anyway, the short of it is that I was there just a cent before it happened. I went out to make this call... the embassy was a notoriously bad place to carry on a private conversation. While I was walking back... I heard the...'' He stretched out his arms to form the visual image.

``Boom?''

``Boom,'' Mike agreed hesitantly. ``I started running to see what happened.''

Niki watched him sympathetically, ``No one survived.''

They fell silent for a time as Niki let her milk sit scarcely touched. Mike's dream had shattered her mood.

Her eyes slowly grew glossy in the blue fluorescent light. ``I'm sorry.''

Surprised, he looked up, ``About that?''

``I'm just sorry.''

``It's okay.''

Mike looked into her eyes and then averted his gaze downward toward the floor. ``Drink your milk.''

``Mike... ?''

Mike awoke stiffly on the floor. Niki sat over him, one hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him to consciousness.

He squinted groggily in the dim light. ``What time is it?''

``Twenty. Mike, Fork's in trouble.''

Mike was suddenly wide awake. ``What is it?''

``I dunno. I think somebody woke him up in the middle of a nightmare.''

``Enough to wake you?'' Mike asked in hopeful disbelief.

``No. I was still up. I just happened to be open to it.''

``Did he wake up by himself?''

``No. I'm pretty sure somethin's up.''

``Ok, let's go.'' Mike picked himself off the floor grabbing his black camera bag on the way out the door and headed straight for the back terrace. He hopped on the fly-cycle, felt under the seat cushion for the key, and switched on the grav-plates while Niki hopped on behind him and held to his waist.

The vehicle raced over the shoreline using its natural flat surface to pick up speed. The crisp ocean waves, remarkably changed in the past few hours, lashed the coast and pounded the beach crag with an unrelenting fury as the bright full moon rose to its apex in an otherwise pitch black sky.

Within five minutes they landed just outside the nearby Tizarian medical center. Only a mile inland, the smell of salt carried by the chilly morning breeze floated through the air. A cargo shuttle rested on a pad under a hundred meters from the complex, and two guards in dark night-uniforms stood outside the entrance in the bleak, morning cold.

Mike dismounted the vehicle and quickly trotted towards the guards.

Niki grabbed Mike's arm cutting short his advance. ``I don't have my doctor I.D.''

He shrugged, ``Forget it. We'll play it straight.''

Mike stopped short of the guards and drew out his press card. ``Michael Harrison, Gatherer, Galactic Press, Tizarian Division. I need access to this facility to see one of the patients.''

The guard in front laughed, ``At twenty in the morning?''

``Yes. This may be an emergency.''

The guard mocked seriousness, ``Well, it must be a pretty big one. What do ya' think George? Do we let little Mikey in?''

The other guard was older. His grey eyes depicted a sternness not much impressed by his partner's attitude. He coughed before speaking, perhaps to be sure he had everyone's attention, ``Nobody's allowed in the medical center, mister...''

``Harrison. I'm with the Tizarian Division. I have permanent press clearance to this center. See? It says so right here.'' Mike pointed toward the card, but neither guard paid any attention.

The first guard laughed again, ``Hey, who's your psych?'' Niki's dark, Sirian features hinted at her purpose.

Mike talked while getting out his flimsy. ``Didn't you hear what I said? I have clearance. By the way, I didn't get you guys' service numbers.''

The older guard broke in, ``Look, buddy. We have orders not to let anybody in. Anybody! Do you understand? Now why don't you just hop back on your play-scooter with your girly-friend and get your snot-nosed face off our turf!''

``Orders from who?''

``From our commanding officer. Who do you think?''

``Who is?''

The older guard shouted, ``I just said who!''

``As in a name.''

The guard paused, not quite sure how to phrase his response. ''That's classified.''

Mike looked up from the flimsy. The guard who spoke reinforced his position by standing in front of the door, his plain, black uniform blending nicely with the purple background.

``You guy's aren't even wearing Tizarian badges. Who the hell are you?''

``Starlaw.'' The answer came simultaneously from both.

Mike shot a wary glance at the pair, ``You Imperial police have some sort of identification?''

They pulled badges from their pockets.

``Why aren't you guy's wearing these things?''

There was no answer. Mike was fairly certain they couldn't arrest him.

``Oh, I guess that's classified too. Look, I'd like to speak with your commanding officer!''

The young guard pushed Mike backward and began to draw his gun, but the other held him back, the older guard's stare belying a temptation to let his partner carry out the threat. Suddenly, Niki gasped as if shocked.

``What is it?''

She paused, regaining her breath. ``He's gone.''

``What?''

``No more signal.''

Mike drew out his camera and backed away from the guards, pulling Niki back with one hand clenched around her shoulder.

``Smile dudes.'' Mike snapped the shot, and retreated quickly to the cycle.

The personal office of Charles Linden, copy editor for the Tizarian Division of Galactican Press, rested near the top of the center section of Silver Tri-Towers. It was, as Chuck liked to put it, a room with a view. Out the sky window, if the day was clear enough, the entire expanse of land all the way to the coast could be surveyed. From well over two kilometers high, it was a wondrous sight.

Mike sat at the edge of the editor's dark, mahogany desk staring blankly out the window as the clouds blew by. Niki, leaning against the close, white wall, quietly watched his profile, collecting his emotions, reading his worries.

The faint noise of footsteps approached the entrance, Niki turning to look as the antique, brass doorknob turned clockwise. Linden, stood in the doorway smiling suspiciously while surveying the duo.

``Well! If it isn't Mik and Nik.''

Mike intentionally suppressed his smile. ``Hi, Chuck.''

``That's Mister Linden to you Harrison. So, how's it going?''

``It sucks.'' The voice was Niki's.

Linden turned his head toward her, leaning his body on the desk toward Mike.

``Does it really?''

``Yeah, it sure does.''

Linden laughed, ``You teaching her slang, buddy?''

Mike smiled, ``Y'know, Chuck, you really have a way of breaking the mood.''

``Yeah. I saw your entry this morning; suggested headline: `Imperial Police Seize Hospital.' Very catchy.''

``You don't like it?''

``First off, it isn't a hospital. It's a medical center. Big difference. Secondly, they didn't seize it.''

``They refused my clearance.''

``I just got off the phone with a Lieutenant Robertson. He tells me you tried to assault one of his guards.''

Mike held the smile, ``He's lying.''

Linden confidently continued, ``He also told me you never showed your press I.D. to the guards.''

``Chuck, he's lying.''

Linden looked Mike in the eyes, ``Prove it.''

``I have a witness.''

``Do you have the encounter on crystal?''

``No.''

``Why not?''

``We were in a hurry when we left. I forgot the recorder.''

``You forgot the recorder; no substantiation. The paper gets sued. I lose my job. And as for your so-called witness... who has been illegally posing as a psychotherapist at the medical center for the past doce so that you could get a story which was never registered with the paper! What the hell are you trying to pull, Mike!?!''

``The last time I registered a story with the paper my research assistant got her brains blown out by a firing squad!''

``That's because all your, quote-unquote, research assistants are unregistered telepaths!!''

Niki winced. Mike shook his head in disbelief as his boss continued.

``Look buddy, it's not like I don't believe you. I do. But you're just doing everything the wrong way.''

``I'm doin' my best.'' ``I know. That's 'cause you are the best... usually.''

Mike looked up hopefully, ``So what do I do now?''

``Lieutenant Robertson is coming over. He'll be here in a few minutes. I suggest you wait around 'til he gets here. Question him. If you can, trap him.''

Linden reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small, pocket recorder. He placed it on the desk in front of Mike. ''You're still on Tizarian turf. Use the advantage.''

By that last remark, Linden meant that there were several advantages press gatherers had on Tizar which weren't granted to them on many other worlds. The right to publish recorded statements without the approval of the speaker, the right to use registered telepaths to gather information, and the right to access the non-classified records of any subject were just a few examples.

Mike sat down at the computer terminal in the far corner. Linden, a lover of antiquities, rarely ever touched it, and the file on Robertson revealed nothing out of the ordinary. The twenty-seven year old, Starlaw officer entered the service after attending Duke Marc's College. He earned a degree in Enforcement of Justice, and served Starlaw in the public relations department. He'd been promoted during his first four-year hitch and was now working through his second.

Mike looked up from the file as Linden's secretary knocked at the door to announce the lieutenant's arrival.

``Send him in, Jo... and tell the floor that I'll be down in a few minutes.''

``Alrighty, Mr. Linden.''

A tall man with short blond hair and smooth brown eyes entered the office. His practiced smile was as wide as it was non-deceiving.

Linden returned the smile, ``Lieutenant, please come in.''

``Mr. Linden? How good it is to finally meet you in person. I must confess, I didn't know who to greet at first.''

``That's quite understandable.''

``You should get a videophone. That's what everyone I know uses.''

``Yes. Well, on an editor's salary, I think I'll just stick to the basics. This is Michael Harrison, the reporter who spoke with your guards; and this is Nikita Sen, a research assistant with the Press.''

Mike smiled at the lie as he shook hands with the Lieutenant.

Robertson also shook hands with Niki but avoided her eyes.

``Mr. Linden. You hire Sirians. I am surprised.''

``Why?''

Robertson laughed uncomfortably, ``Have you not heard the Imperial convention against psionic trespassing?''

``Lieutenant, the Psionics Suppression is a matter for historians. Besides, this is Tizar. We have been granted freedom in those areas by your Archduke's grandfather long ago.''

Robertson seemed to physically squirm in his stance, ``Still, editor. I must insist that my mind... not be... violated.'' He smiled shyly at Niki.

Mike wondered what kind of people the Imperials were hiring, ``You've got something to hide, Lieutenant Robertson?''

``Of course not. There are just certain classified matters... Unrelated, you understand.''

Mike smiled, ``No problem. Niki's telepathy is very... weak.'' He decided to stretch the truth, ``She can only read the answers to yes or no questions, feel surface emotions, and even for that she has to be looking at the subject in question.''

``Still Mr. Harrison, I must insist that she at least leave the room.''

Niki broke in, ``I don't mind leaving, but I would like to hear what is said. After all, I am, to a certain extent, involved. If I turn around, I'll be largely unable to use my telepathy. Would that be all right Lieutenant?''

Robertson shrugged, ``I guess that'll have to do. Sorry about the inconvenience.''

Niki smiled, ``That's okay. I'm used to it.''

Robertson looked at Mike and began to grope for a place to begin. ``So, Mr. Harrison, the guards at the medical center told me they had a little trouble with you.''

``I suppose they did, Lieutenant. I wanted entrance; they denied it.''

``Well, did you tell them you were a gatherer?''

``Yeah, I showed them my press card.''

``Well... that's not their story. What were you doing out there so early anyway?''

``Me and Niki suspected that something may be wrong with one of the patients.''

``Which one was this?''

``John Doe, number eighteen.''

Robertson looked surprised. ``Hmmm... that's quite a coincidence. That patient died in his sleep at around midnight last night.''

Mike's mouth fell open, ``What?''

``There's nothing you could have done. He was well on his way to the golden arches when you arrived, or wherever it is that he went. Wasn't he the insane gentleman who murdered a guard with a carving fork and injured two civilians?''

Mike tried desperately to regain his wits.

Robertson continued, ``So, Mr. Harrison, what made you suspect that there was something wrong with the patient.''

Mike looked back up at the Lieutenant. ``Niki, turn around.''

Robertson instinctively withdrew a step.

Mike continued as Niki turned about to face the lieutenant, ''Is he lying?''

She nodded yes; her eyes burning red with antipathy.

Robertson avoided both her's and Mike's stare and turned to Linden for support. ``I doubt I'd be the first. Mr. Linden, I protest.''

Mike stood directly in front of Robertson. ``Lieutenant, what was Starlaw doing there?''

``That's confidential, Mr. Harrison.''

``Can't you at least tell me the branch of personnel, the name of the commanding officer?''

Robertson shrunk under the direct questions. ``Internal Counter-Insurgency. ISIS Division. That's all I can say.''

``ISIS?!?'' Mike almost jumped back into Linden's lap. ``The Imperial Secret Police?''

``Please, Mr. Harrison. You have me at an awkward position. I'm only regular Starlaw.''

``Then why are you lying!?!''

Lieutenant Robertson withdrew to the door. ``I won't stand to be interrogated in such a fashion,'' he weakly complained. ``I'm leaving.''

Robertson opened the door and quickly escaped from the hateful stares of the three people he was sent to pacify. Mike took the recorder out of his pocket and turned it off. ``Can I publish it now?''

Linden sat down and crossed his legs, a twinkling of a smile lighting his otherwise sharp countenance. ``No. You can go out there and get some more facts, and then come back with a real story. I've got a feeling this'll be a winner once you've got it fully researched, and I won't even make you register Niki.''

Mike smiled gravely, ``It's a little too late for that; they already know about her. But thanks anyway. We'll take the offer. We'll also try to get some more info. I'd also appreciate it if you'd keep quiet about the story.''

``Okay. But I don't see how that's going to help you now either.''

``Trust me, it will. Look, I'll catch you later. Thanks for the help.''

``Ok, I'll see you two later.''

Mike and Niki exited the office. Once in the outer hall, Niki tugged at the gatherer for attention. ``Hey, ya' really know how to get people t' listen to ya'.''

He looked her in the eyes, ``I'm sorry.''

She smiled, ``About you or about Fork?''

``I'm just sorry.''

She shrugged, ``Let's get some milk.''

The bar was cool and dimly lit. Several ceiling fans twirled silently above as Mike drank his milk on the rocks; Niki had her's straight.

``So,'' she began, cutting the solemn mood, ``where do we start this time?''

Mike sipped thoughtfully, ``I haven't the faintest idea.''

``Liar.'' She was smiling.

He grinned back and took another sip.

She grew impatient, ``Well?''

``Okay. I met this girl a while ago.''

Niki laughed, ``Is this one of your drunk maid stories?''

``No. This happened just yesterday. I don't know whether Chuck told you, but me and him met Mr. Clay and his daughter for lunch.''

``Boardmember Clay?''

``Uh huh.''

``And the girl's his daughter?''

``Yeah. Anyway, so we talked, and then they had to leave, but that afternoon she came over to my house.''

``Alone?'' Niki looked concerned.

``Uh huh.''

``And you let her in?''

``Why not?''

She had no reply.

``So anyway, while she was in the bathroom, I found out she was an android.''

``What were you doing in the bathroom with her?''

``I wasn't in the bathroom. I was in the living room.''

``What was she doing?''

``Taking her ear off, or putting it on. I don't remember, but that's not important.''

``You saw her take her ear off. Ooh gross.''

``No, Cindy did.''

Niki laughed, ``What? You asked your computer what she was doing in the bathroom?''

Mike paused, ``Yeah.''

``Why?''

``I was curious?''

``Have you no shame? Guy, ya' won't be seeing me go to the bathroom at your place no more.''

Mike laughed, ``Oh, c'mon. Just one more time. I want to shoot some pictures.''

She laughed, ``No way, bud. So what happened then?''

``She had to take off, but I'm sure she was there to check me out.''

Niki nodded, ``I'm sure she was, too.''

``No. I mean for somebody else.''

``Heck, Mike, everybody's after you. Me, an android, your computer, now somebody else.''

``Oh, c'mon.'' ``So where's Clay's real daughter?''

``He doesn't have one.''

``You mean, Mrs. Clay gave birth to an android?''

They both laughed.

``Look, stop it. I want you to check up on her... and on Mr. Clay.''

``I can't read an android.''

``Read Mr. Clay then. No! Wait a mil, it was his niece, not his daughter, his niece.''

She laughed, ``You've really got your facts straight.''

``I was recovering from a hangover at the time.''

``Excuses. Excuses.''

They laughed and ordered some more milk.

She began again, ``So what about Fork. I mean, this could be a dead end.''

``I'm fairly sure his mind was shot by one of those Imperial mind scanners. They probably just decided to kill him.''

``Why?''

``I dunno, and that's no lie.''

``What do we do?''

``You do nothing.''

``Aw, c'mon. I wanna help.''

Mike refused, ``No, they already know about you. I want you where you can do some good. Clay doesn't know about you, and I've got a suspicion he's tied up in this.''

``How's that?''

``I think I remember seeing Robin, that's his niece's... I mean android's name... I swear I remember seeing her down at the medical center one of those times I visited Fork.''

``Then she'd know me.''

``Nope. You're not registered. I am. She wouldn't have any reason to remember your face unless you spoke to her or something, or unless you were registered with Galactic Press, and you're not...''

``Ya' don't think Mr. Linden would say anything about me?''

``Nah, Chuck doesn't talk to Boardmembers. You're in the clear.''

``What about you?'' She knew the answer to that without asking.

``I'll manage. Look, I'm gonna go home and grab a quick nap.''

``Liar.''

Mike smiled, ``Look, I'll be okay. I promise. Come see me tonight.''

``You mean next morning?''

``Whenever. I'll see ya' later.'' He got up and headed toward the exit.

Niki put down her milk, ``Be careful.''

``You too.''

Niki stayed at the table as the highbowls slowly rose to the ceiling and coasted across the bar. From the opposite aisle a burley man in a heavy, tan coat rubbed a lather of foam from his moustache, his eyes scanning the morning headlines as they scrolled across the surface of his table. In the background, she heard a group of people laughing. Michael didn't want to be followed. She glanced toward the escalator ramp and watched a sprinkling of people zoom by, the cushion of propelled wind whining where its outskirts met the stop-off. The bar seemed warm and snug when compared with some of the other places she had been recently; it was a good place to stay and pout. But not as good as a Boardmember's house. She smiled at the thought as she threw on her wrapper.

``Are you family?'' The nurse's eyebrows wrinkled in rehearsed concern as he scratched down Mike's name and Tizarian I.D. number.

``No, but will this do?'' Mike showed the nurse his Galactican press clearance. The shiny blue and silver card was nearly identical to his Tizarian personal identification or his Imperial consumer profile. The three were hard to tell apart at a glance.

The young man nodded in acknowledgement and hurriedly escorted Mike through the long white corridors of the medical center. The usually polished floor tiles showed dirty tread markings where a pair of wet, oversized starlaw boots had recently stomped. Mike grinned and snapped a picture though he doubted that analysis of the photo could tell much more than the boot size and service division of its wearer.

The air felt slightly colder as the nurse pushed aside a set of green double doors. The word ``Freezers'' was painted in icy blue across their surface. Mike followed closely.

``So what d'ya want with a 'corpsicle' anyway?'' The nurse smiled at his own joke. He was being too smooth. Mike guessed that they were giving him loads of preferential treatment because they were scared silly of the bad press he could inflict.

``It's a long story.'' Mike bent over the computer and with a few quick keystrokes he scanned the registry of the dead. Niki had taught him how the system worked last month and the lesson came back to him as quickly as were it taught yesterday. Such were the benefits of being lectured by a Siri, Mike thought as the nurse approached the terminal.

``Hey, wait a second buddy.'' The nurse was visibly surprised, but he scanned the screen seeing Mike had found his way through the system.

``He's gone.'' Mike closed his eyes in the anticipated frustration. It was too much too expect that the Imperial police would leave his subject's body on site. That would make verification of the time of death too simple a matter.

``I thought you guys held a patient's body for autopsy.''

``We do. At least we're supposed to.'' The nurse hit a few more keys and scanned the screen for more data.

``Here. The verdict was heart attack due to the stress medication. It happens occasionally. The body's been taken to Greenflower mortuary.''

The news startled Mike momentarily, and he wondered what the Imp's motives could be. He pushed himself away from the console and straightened out, slowly perceiving the implications. The nurse gazed up from the computer and tried to read Mike's expression.

Mike finally smiled, ``At least Fork's going out in style. Say, you got a spare hour?''

Surrounded by lush costal woodlands and set around a wild flower garden, Greenflower easily rated as the prettiest community in Silver-Tri county. It was small, quiet, nearly perfect in every way. Mike would have lived there, but it lacked in one crucial respect: no beach.

Mike watched the passing trees and sighed as the nurse suddenly turned delivery boy drove the white grav-car along the highway. The med-center was being too kind but totally predictable, loaning him a nurse and a car, all to straighten out its reputation with one reporter from a very powerful news syndicate.

``I hope you're enjoying this.'' The nurse sounded slightly irritated.

``Sure am. Watch out for the cat.''

Small rain droplets marched steadily up the windshield and swerved sideways with every curve in the road as the sun poked between the clouds with sporadic recess, its rays shattering into a kaleidoscope of colorful, dancing patterns.

Cruising at a hundred kilometers per hour, the grav-car sped over the highway at an approximate altitude of one meter. Mike thought that it felt like they were floating on a current of air though he knew that wasn't the case. They were floating on the force of gravity which was really the curvature of space. Mike's mind began to swim with equations learned in a series of undergraduate science courses he had been dragged into by a friend. Something about down-vectors and Higgs boson emissions. He couldn't quite remember who to hate for it. Mike had always liked science, but never enough to actually understand it.

The nurse pulled up to the mortuary and gently touched earth. Outside the deep grey building a small service seemed to be taking place. The dark gloomy afternoon made the mourners looked like an assembly of Draconian diplomats dressed in sleek black suits huddling together exchanging whispers. Their somber mood was catching.

Mike climbed from the car and headed warily for the mortuary. A pit of ashes was exposed to the rain about a hundred feet from the building's entrance, green clover petals curving in along its red brick walls. The nurse, genuinely fascinated, stopped to look down. It was archaic. Almost barbarian.

Mike entered the building's lobby while the nurse ran to catch up.

``What'd you see?''

``Nothing. It was too dark,'' the young man puffed catching his breath.

``May I help you, gentlemen?'' A middle aged woman with a pale complexion suddenly appeared as if from thin air. She was dressed in a long black gown and wore a black pearl necklace.

Mike took out his press clearance, ``I hope so. I'm looking for a man, I mean a body of a man which was brought here this morning.''

The women seemed strangely amused. ``Does this body of a man have a name.'' Her words sang out like music.

``He was listed as a jay-dee eighteen from Silver-Tri costal med-center.''

``I see,'' She seemed absolutely enthralled.

Mike smiled, ``Great,'' then consciously dropped his smile. ``Where is he?''

She slipped between Mike and the nurse and crept to the lobby entrance, opening the large oaken doors and pointing her long slender arm toward the ash pit. Mike watched the rain fall in disappointment.

The setting sun's amber beams tanned the evening coast, streaming thoughtlessly past the white water's edge, scattering sullenly across Michael Harrison's tired features. He watched two gulls, wings outstretched, gliding peacefully over the shifting blue and crimson waves, hanging precariously onto the thin salty air. As if beckoning him forth, the sea approached within inches of his face and then receded into the distance while thoughts twisted about in his mind like delicate angels on their way to a darktime's meal.

But something was missing; something was overlooked. And for the life of him, he didn't know what it was. What to do when you're deadended? Go back and re-examine the facts. But there were no facts. Everything was hidden behind lies.

Unable to sleep in his only true home, he picked himself up and walked back toward the house. The huge wooden doors seemed even more menacing when sober, but he managed them open and headed to the kitchen for a brew.

His soft bed and cold beer summed up the perfect way to spend an evening, but as he sat on the edge of the covers the camera drew away his attention. Near the wall, it sat on the rug where he had dropped it less than an hour ago as if pleading like a child for a trip to the zoo, ``take me a picturing, I want to have fun.''

Mike smiled and stretched out on the floor beside his toy. He opened the workset and began to review the pictures in memory. He zipped past a Telmarian mountain range where strange animals carried supplies across a snow ridge to the local guerrilla faction, then floated along Tizarian waters as a shuttle from nearby Aquapolis darted from under the seascape in a beautifully chaotic conglomeration of white water spray and a rainbow of sunshine, then noticed a Calannaan temple where the altar priests sacrificed a political dissident with knives and a chainsaw, but only one picture grabbed his attention-- that of two starlaw guards scowling outside a medical center entrance in the wee hours of morning.

Mike pivoted the picture into different corners of the screen and tried to decide where it would look best hanging from the wall. He reversed the colors, intensified the light, rotated the picture around, zoomed out for a wideangle, and suddenly noticed what was missing.

The small distorted numbers mocked him from the far corner of the screen. He manually zoomed in on them and refocused. How could he be so stupid? The medical center had no permanent cargo shuttle. The vessel must have belonged to the Imperials.

He looked toward the controller wall, ``Cindy, load file from Silver-Tri. Find Imperial shuttle 8372919041.''

She responded within the second, ``That shuttle is found.''

``Where is it now?''

``Docked onto the independent fast-merchant, Nissithiu, which has jumped out of system fifteen point two centims ago.''

The idea itched like a hunch sent by the devil, ``What was the cargo?''

``It was dropping off pharmaceutics.''

``Departure cargo?''

``None.''

Mike leaned back on the bed, ``That's pretty strange, leaving a world as wealthy as Tizar.''

Cindy gave no reply.

``Where is the ship headed?''

``Flight orders don't state.''

``They should.''

``They don't.''

``Then read topside nav-data and figure it out.'' Mike hated lazy computers.

Cindy came back to him after a few seconds, ``This will take me twenty-four point seven centims to compute.''

``Why so long?''

``I'm not a navigation computer.''

He shrugged, ``Fine, Take your time.''

``Now computing,'' she responded as if more than a little annoyed.

Mike grinned. She'd be working until well past midnight. At least he now knew how to keep her busy.

As he stepped back outside, beer in paw, he shot the dying sun a victory smile and sat down on the damp sands under a chilly wind. Then, curling up next to the surf, Mike closed his eyes and tried not to dream. Songs of water and birds soothed him with a serenity beyond mere music as he drifted away to other seas.

Slowly, his soul floated about in black and empty space. Silently, a touch from above pulled him away from sleep's cherished womb. Sounds of music, songs from the sea, clustered around him like the players of an opera theater, sinking in and out of the void with a strange, perhaps arranged harmony.

She bore no expression as he opened his eyes. He felt himself gripped with a strange combination of confusion and fear as the black sky above cast a bold contrast around her disarranged golden blonde hair and deep blue eyes.

She smiled sweetly whispering, ``Good morning.''

For a moment, he felt as if he was dreaming, but the rush of questions was uncharacteristic of sleepthink. In dreams he could accept that life was death and good was evil, but on the surface of thought there was only the here and the now and many, many questions.

``Why are you here?''

``We found your psyche.''

The cold tide washed the tips of Mike's toes as a cool, salty breeze lifted a few strands of Robin's hair.

``Drop the story, or you'll never see her again.''

Robin walked slowly up the beach as Mike sat still in the sand watching the ocean horizon curve away into the distance.

Dawn was particularly brilliant along the coast, a primary reason for his choosing to live there. Mike watched the sunrise with a rueful stare as the dull, throbbing pain stuck like a stiff arrow in the base of his skull. Bitterly, he picked his sand encrusted self off the beach and headed wearily toward the house. Grains of earth fell off him with each dismal step.

The large livingroom reeked of a dreary gloom. Mike glanced toward the couch and the pillow where her head had rested two nights before. He walked sullenly into the bedroom. The far curtains remained closed, dimming the room. The chain locket she'd given him rested on his bed with the camera.

``Hello.''

It beeped compulsively as a point of light danced around the controller screen.

``Yes?''

``The Nissithiu went to the Calanna star system.''

``Oh.''

Mike tumbled the junk off the bed, all except for the locket. It was in the shape of a heart with words inscribed along the front: ``Go For It!''

``Place audio connection call to Linden.''

The light danced around the screen.

``Done.''

Mike gathered up his breath.

``Hi, What's up Mike?'' It was Linden's voice.

``Morning, editor.''

``Yes, and a very nice one it is too. Is there anything I can do for you?''

Mike consciously tried collecting his spirit.

``Why did you tell Clay?''

``What?''

``You heard me.''

``I don't understand, Mike. What happened?''

``They've got Niki.''

``... You think I told Clay about her?''

``I know you did, Chuck. I just wanna know why.''

``Now don't start hurling accusations, buddy. I didn't say a thing to Clay or anybody else. Now, tell me exactly what happened. Did she screw up or something?''

``No.''

``Well, how do you know?''

``She's not a screw-up! Okay?!''

``Well, I didn't say anything. Editor's honor, Mike.''

``Bullshit.''

``The honest truth.''

``No, it had to be you.''

``Nope.''

``Chuck, if I find out later...''

``I'm clean.''

``Chuck... stupid question coming up...''

Mike scratched his head with the locket searching for the right words.

``You ready?''

``I love dumb questions. Shoot.''

``When's the last time you had your office checked for bugs?''

Silence.

``Chuck?!?''

The line was dead.

Jim is a full-time MBA student at UC Riverside. He recently founded the UCR Gamers' Guild and co-edited the first issue of its quarterly journal, _The Guildsman_. These chapters are the first of several he began during the middle 80's as a prose exercise in description of his Traveller (SF-RPG) setting. He says he writes exactly the same way he gamemasters: without any semblance of plan or preconception.

What has been published here as Chapter Two sl is actually chapters two and three as written originally by Jim. The Harrison Chapters will be continued next issue.

jimv@ucrmath.ucr.edu